


Torture

by KateKintail



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 02:16:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/669098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KateKintail/pseuds/KateKintail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being wheelchair-bound is just about killing Spike.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Torture

**Author's Note:**

> Fic written for HC_bingo.Prompt: insanity (always there) Pairing: Spike/Drusilla, Angelus/Drusilla, Angel/Buffy mentioned

Torture. This was torture. And not the fun sort of torture either, where you get to see their eyes go wide when you show them your true face and hear their shrieks when you sink your teeth in. This was the sort of torture where your grandsire slips your girlfriend the tongue right in front of you and you can’t do a damned thing about it because you’re stuck in a bloody wheelchair. Or, at least, pretending to be stuck. 

He watched Angelus’ hand slide down Dru’s side, his pale skin against her bold red dress. Drusilla was all lace and fluff today, with skirts that flared out and a neckline that plunged right down to her breasts. He sometimes wondered what she had been like before Angelus made her into a vampire, but he could never picture her as anything apart from what she was, and he loved her so much. She was always one for contrasts, his Dru. Her white skin and dark hair. Her gracefulness and strength. Her utter beauty and her craziness. Her kindness and her savagery. She had made him to be hers and hers was all he ever wanted to be. But there was Angelus, taking her instead, taking her just because he knew it would hurt Spike. 

Spike’s legs tingled with the need to get up right now and plant a fist into Angelus’ cheek. He fought the urge, looking away and trying to think about something different. But his eyes rested on Miss Edith, who seemed to be judging him, wondering why he wasn’t standing up and fighting for her mistress right now. And then, realizing he was sounding just as mad as Dru right now, he closed his eyes. “Dru, pet, I’m hungry.”

There was a wet slurp as the two broke away, then a pause before Spike felt Dru’s hand on his cheek. Her touch was soft, tender. When she spoke to him, in was in a soft, sing-songy voice. “The cats will chase the mice even as the barn is burning.”

He cocked his head slightly. “Right. Um, so are we the cats or the mice in that dandy of an image?”

She didn’t answer right away. She stepped back and twirled, waving her arms as if dancing, though there was no music. At least, there was no real music. When she danced like this, he thought he could hear the music in her head. It was always hauntingly beautiful, like a romantic funeral dirge. She lifted her arms over her head and rocked her hips back and forth. She was dancing for him and, for a moment, he felt free again.

Then Angelus went to her, putting a hand on her hip, stopping her rhythm. Spike clenched his hand into a fist. How dare he make her stop. Spike had been the one to bring her succulent, hot-blooded children to eat while Angel was off running around like the Slayer’s pet. Spike had helped her grow strong again while Angel couldn’t care less about his childe. Spike had stood by her side, loyal and in love and ready to do anything for her while Angel had actually fought against the pair of them. And now, here he was, thinking he could just swoop in and have her. Damn, he admired how evil Angelus could be.

Dru danced away from him, staring up at the ceiling, closing her eyes. “Can you smell the fire? I love the way it crackles, but it’s impatient.” 

He blinked black at her. Crazy as a loon, that was his Dru. But she was always honest. She said exactly what was on her mind, and he loved that about her. It was during times like this—more than the times when he wanted to hit Angelus—that he wished he could reveal himself and get up out of the stupid wheelchair. He would go to her, embrace her, kiss her. He would lay her down on the stone cold floor, bed her, take her. Love her.

“No fire here, Dru,” he said. “But I’m here. And I’m hungry.”

She froze in mid-dance and looked down at him. “My sweet William. I will bring you someone to eat.”

“Not a kid this time,” he said. He liked the taste of their innocence, yes, but he needed something more filling. 

“I’ll bring you someone good,” she agreed, looking thrilled to be able to give him something he wanted. She walked back over, leaned close, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Her lips were soft and smooth. She smelled of coppery blood and dead flowers. The touch and smell relaxed him like magic. His whole body tingled with desire, but he reminded himself that he was waiting for the right time. Spike smiled up at her, entranced. He might be stuck here, but she still looked out for him.

But then she reached over and took Angelus’ hand. “Take me hunting,” she said, as coherent as she ever was. And Angelus shot Spike a sly grin as he led Drusilla out where Spike could not follow. 

Spike gripped the arms of his wheelchair. Torture. This was torture.


End file.
